


Plus Nine

by phantomreviewer



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Jetlag, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 01:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: The plan was simple, he and Elder Cunningham would talk about their objectives at the airport, say goodbye to their families with a smile, a hug and a handshake and then they would board their flight. Perhaps pray together for their mission to be a success, read up on the documents the Missionary Training Center had given them about District Nine, and then the two of them would loosen their ties and put their seats back to rest. They could sleep on the plane and wake up fresh faced and ready to start the most important two years of their lives.The plan had little reflection on reality.Or; Elder Price has jetlag, canon... doesn't actually change at all.





	Plus Nine

**Author's Note:**

> I saw The Book of Mormon on Broadway last week! I am still jetlagged from the flight home, and so with some encouragement from [slightlytookish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/pseuds/slightlytookish), I inflicted this pain on Elder Price.

Sleep came easily to Kevin Price, it always had. His bedtime routine had been set in stone since he’d been a young boy; he would say goodnight to his mom and dad, he and his brothers would brush their teeth huddled around the bathroom sink – Lucas helping Ethan, Jack elbowing Michael, and Sarah using their parents en-suite rather than sharing with the boys - and then Kevin would say his prayers, lay down in bed and think of Planet Orlando until those thoughts turned into dreams. Almost always of Planet Orlando.

Apart from the one time that he snuck out of bed – young and stupid and hungry; the hellish consequences of that misadventure had stayed with him ever since in his dreams – Kevin’s night-time routine had been set for nineteen years. He got into bed, he slept, he dreamt and then he woke up. He didn’t oversleep or complain about having to get up in the mornings, always getting at least eight hours, if not nine. He’d make his bed crisply first thing in the morning after he woke up, and plump his cushions ready for the night ahead. It worked, it was a good system.

Sleep had come easily at the Missionary Training Center too. The days had been full of work, rewarding and sometimes repetitive, but not hard, and Kevin had always been ready to learn. He couldn’t be the best if he didn’t know more than everybody else, so he applied himself in rote and at night dreamt of Epcot Center and having his photograph taken with Mickey Mouse. The framed picture from Disney World which he had up on his bedstand had a Kevin all teeth and sunburn with Mickey’s hand on his shoulder - taken when Kevin was nine and learning the wonders of Orlando for the first time – had the rest of his siblings in it too, and Kevin didn’t think that it was too selfish to want a picture that was just for him.

He’d never flown internationally before. Kevin had slept all the way to Orlando, and it had appeared out the plane window like a dream in his childhood. There was part of Kevin, that part that was still a child and not a man grown and about to go and spread the word. There was a part of Kevin that expected his mission to start in the same way, a fresh slate. Scene change and suddenly, Uganda. Suddenly, action.

That wasn’t, it turned out, how international travel worked. It had seemed very civilised for their flight time to be at 4:26, Kevin had it all planned out, after he’d adjusted it to be an international haul to Uganda as opposed to a quick interstate hop to Orlando.

The plan was simple, he and Elder Cunningham would talk about their objectives at the airport, say goodbye to their families with a smile, a hug and a handshake and then they would board their flight. Perhaps pray together for their mission to be a success, read up on the documents the Missionary Training Center had given them about District Nine, and then the two of them would loosen their ties and put their seats back to rest. They could sleep on the plane and wake up fresh faced and ready to start the most important two years of their lives.

The plan had little reflection on reality.

It was Wednesday afternoon when they left Salt Lake City, and Friday evening when they arrived in Kitguli. There were no direct flights to Uganda from Salt Lake City and flight delays, nearly missed connections and two plane transfers, not to mention the late bus meant that they had been travelling for nearly 42 hours before they finally found home for the next two years.

And his new companion had been talking almost non-stop. When Elder Cunningham hadn’t been talking, or filming – “Elder, what do you think about the fact that we might miss our next flight?” “Elder Price, look, they’ve got Star Trek on the inflight entertainment system, we should totally watch it together!” “Best friend! Can I have your snacks?” – he had been snoring. Loudly. But Kevin couldn’t sleep, they had been forever chasing sunrises but he couldn’t afford not to be present, this was where Heavenly Father said that he should be, and Heavenly Father wasn’t  _ wrong _ . It was Kevin who had to have been wrong so far, no Orlando Mission, no  _ normal _ companion, no easy journey. He had to have done something for this to have happened. There had to be a reason for this, and that reason would be found in Uganda.

Kevin was tired down to the very bones of himself, but, this – men with guns rifling through their cases and stealing their belongings, a blasphemous deprived people who have dismissed the presence of the Latter Day Saints in their village for months - somehow was what Heavenly Father wanted of him so that he can get everything that he’d always wanted. And so he had to work for it – if it were easy then it wouldn’t be incredible? Right?

It was overwhelming and loud, and the village was bustling and bright even at that hour, and for a moment Kevin imagined that the Mission Hut was going to be an oasis of calm, they are Mormons after all. The Elders should be settling down to get ready for sleep, the District Leader, McKinley, should meet them, shake their hands and give them a gentle introduction to their progress in the village. And then Kevin could sleep. Once he’d slept, then he could start again. At that moment he didn’t even know what day it was.

He found himself dancing. He wondered, briefly, whether this was a twisted take on a Hell Dream. Could this be his punishment for contemplating the complimentary coffee on the plane? Or for judging his new companion? Elder Cunningham wasn’t really that bad, and Kevin was tired, and confused. But no, he was unfortunately awake and the dancing really was happening. At least his District Leader appeared to be pleased by it. It must be hard to be having gay thoughts, Kevin admired him. He also wished that he would be quiet.

The bedroom issued to Elder Cunningham and himself was cramped, pokey and dark. It blessedly had two uncomfortable looking single beds, he imagined that Elder Cunningham will want the bed nearest the window – and at this moment Kevin could not care less, as long as he could sleep. His prayers are silent, conducted as he undressed, surely Heavenly Father couldn't begrudge him for that, and he’d almost settled into blissful silence, when Elder Cunningham started talking. And Kevin was tired, and exhausted, and starting to run out of patience with his companion, but he couldn't not acknowledge Elder Cunningham’s uncertainty. Elder Cunningham had tried to bolster his emotions, not that he needed it, but he reminded Kevin that he can do something incredible, and Elder Cunningham’s father  _ should _ be proud of his son, Cunningham wasn’t a bad person, just… intense. He hoped that Cunningham would calm down in the morning, that a night’s sleep will be good for both of them and that the world would align itself properly tomorrow.

It didn't.

Kevin woke up tired with a faint headache pounding at his temple, and the day didn't get better from there. He should be snappier with his answers, he’d practiced and learnt and he knew these stories and the best ways to introduce people into the Church. But he stumbled when Dr Gotswana started talking about maggots in unsavoury places, taking longer than he should to pull his concentration back.

Cunningham wasn’t helping, and that wasn’t fair and he knew it because he could see how much Elder Cunningham was trying to help, but Kevin was light headed and tired. The noise of a gunshot was enough to startle him into semi-consciousness. The sensation of blood was a strange one, warm and tacky. When he yawned, pulling up his hand on route to the Mission Hut, he got blood on his palm. He was standing in front of Elder Cunningham when the General shot the village’s butcher in the face – Kevin couldn't remember his name, and he wanted to cry and he’d never been an expressively emotional person, at least, not for negative emotions, he should always wear a smile, but he just couldn't at the moment, it was too much here – so he was drenched and tired and shocked, while Elder Cunningham was dry, and alert, and why had Elder Cunningham’s prayer been answered?

It shouldn’t have been so hard to work out what the right thing to do was, granted, these circumstances were exceptional but there were rules and Kevin had always followed them. But those rules had led him here. They should have led him to Orlando. His incredible journey should have led him there.

And then, it did.

A Hell Dream wasn’t restful at the best of times, and these are the worst of times. The dream was vivid, and bright, feathered and sequined, and horrific. It seemed to last a lifetime, at least ten hours of his life had been lost to the redness. He was almost euphoric when he awakened; fear, adrenaline and righteousness pounding through him.

The village was going to be saved, and Kevin was the one who was going to do it. Up until Kevin needed to be saved, and it turned out that it was the village who did it. The village and Nabulungi, and the pageant, and Arnold Cunningham, his best friend.

The days between the events of the General, and the hospital and the baptisms and the Mission President’s visit blur into one. Kevin couldn't rest, and when he found himself stopping then he couldn't bear to stop. It was too much to try and think, it felt as though he hadn’t slept in weeks, and that he hadn’t felt peace in far longer. None of what had passed made any sense, his head pounded, his body ached, he felt violated and confused and - “of course you woke up, you drank twelve cups of coffee!”

But he hadn’t slept.

When they were seven years old Jack had stayed up all night. He’d tried to make Kevin stay up too, saying that it would be fun that they could tell scary stories and sneak around the house, maybe watch some TV or play games while the rest of the house was sleeping. But Kevin had said his prayers and tucked himself into his neatly made bed. The next day Jack was giddy with lack of sleep, he’d rocked on his hands and giggled into his cereal and he’d been sent to bed early without any dessert the next day. Kevin felt like that; watching the car-crash of the pageant unfold in front of him he could barely contain his giddy joy at the misfortune they found themselves in. As though it was happening to somebody else, as though other people were going to suffer for this, as though there were no consequences for them.

And then, at McKinley’s and Cunningham’s and Nabulungi’s faces he felt the true magnitude of the action rock into him like the swell hitting the bow of a boat.  Understanding, actual understanding, like Joseph Smith at the moment of his death, you have to believe the words because of what they can do for you, and not just what they say or who said them. Arnold Cunningham had created an Orlando, it had never been about  _ getting  _ Planet Orlando, but about making that within yourself.

Kevin smiled, delirious.

When Kevin woke up he was twisted onto the couch in the living quarters of the Mission Hut, a grown man curled up under a soft pink blanket that wasn’t his. Kinks in his back and a crick in his neck, eyelids still heavy with sleep, a dry mouth, a rested body and a ready soul. It was time to wake up, something unexpected and incredible was about to begin.


End file.
